The return of The Mystery of Charles Dickens, Simon Callow’s whirlwind one-man show, was inevitable in 2012, the 200th anniversary of the novelist’s birth.

Dickens’s life story is a gift: shadowy yet exuberant, with everything from forced child labour to American superstardom. Callow’s interpretation, skilfully scripted by Peter Ackroyd, played in the West End in 2000 and again in 2002 but still feels fresh, with Richard Twyman replacing Patrick Garland as director.

Callow certainly captures Dickens’s energy, as well as his passion and his sadness. He gallops along, albeit occasionally pausing in unexpected places. Though the passages of commentary are neatly handled, sometimes they seem too brisk – and sometimes too much like a lecture. Poignant details don’t quite have room to breathe. It’s hard not to wonder what might happen if Callow simply played Dickens, rather than having to switch nimbly between impersonation and explanation.

As it is, the experience is a bit like a jukebox musical, in which Dickens’s classic numbers are stitched together with biographical and historical threads. The richest part of the evening comes when Callow recreates the texture of Dickens’s own one-man show. It’s a coruscating performance, which illuminates an array of characters from Fagin to Uriah Heep.

Yet inevitably depth and darkness are lost as Dickens’s life is condensed into a little under two hours. The best anecdotes will be familiar to anyone who has more than a passing interest in this great London storyteller. Although Callow’s enthusiasm and dynamism are impossible to fault, I was left wanting more of the mystery the title promises.